


That's Not Estus

by kyril (CrownlessAgain)



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls III
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Desperation, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Inappropriate use of estus flasks, M/M, Omorashi, Pee, Public Humiliation, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 12:31:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11402451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrownlessAgain/pseuds/kyril
Summary: A proud young sorcerer finds himself in quite the predicament, and learns some new things along the way.





	That's Not Estus

In hindsight, Orbeck had no idea what had possessed him to set up his study in the middle of the bloody Crucifixion Woods.

He supposed it hadn't been _that_ bad when he'd arrived. Well, the giant crabs had always been there, but it wasn't as though he actually wanted to go into the water, and they'd seemed content to let him have the land. Invaders from other worlds too, but Orbeck knew how to hide. More worrying was the horde of hollows that had moved in downstairs a week after his arrival. They stank up the place, made noise day and night, and some even had the guts to put on wizard hats and throw around rudimentary spells. As a sorcerer, Orbeck found this kind of behaviour downright offensive, but it wasn't as if they would listen if he politely asked them to stop. 

If all that wasn't enough, that morning he'd come face to face with a lycanthrope while gathering herbs for tea. The enraged hollow had dodged everything he'd cast at it, so he'd stowed his catalyst and run as fast as his legs could carry him. As soon as he made it to his study, he cast Hidden Body and crouched in the corner - and not a moment too soon as the lyncanthrope bounded in after him, knocking over his favorite telescope and sniffing the air furiously. It circled around the study, driving Orbeck mad with irritation as it upset more of his equipment. Then it stalked away, but before the sorcerer could breathe a sigh of relief, he discovered that its howls had attracted at least two more of its kind. He could hear them prowling outside, chasing his scent, waiting for him to try and run.

Orbeck took a sip from his ashen estus flask, steeled himself, and re-cast Hidden Body. This was going to be a long day.

An hour later, not much had changed about Orbeck's situation other than that his ashen estus flask was much less full and his limbs were much more cramped. More worryingly for him, the constant sips of estus he was taking were slowly but surely making themselves felt in his bladder. Orbeck sighed, straightening his back to take the pressure off his abdomen. This was nothing, he told himself as he took another drink to replenish his spells. He was a seasoned traveller, and he could hold it for another day if he had to.

Half an hour later, he wasn't so sure anymore.

The pressure in his lower belly had grown into a dull ache and the lycanthropes seemingly had no plans to leave. Orbeck shifted for the tenth time in the past five minutes, awkwardly crossing his legs under him and pressing his thighs together. It was impossible to find a comfortable postion when he had to piss so badly. His foot began to jiggle as his body tried to distract itself from its need, and he had to press it down with his hand to avoid breaking the invisibility spell. He wondered if it would be worth it to try and sneak out just for long enough to find a bush to relieve himself behind. On the bright side, if he was killed afterwards, at least he'd have nothing left to wet himself with as he died.

No, Orbeck decided.He was a sorcerer of the royal dragon school of Vinheim, and if anything got him killed, it would _not_ be his clearly over-active bladder.

Another half hour, and Orbeck realised that his situation was quickly becoming dire. It _hurt_ to hold so much liquid inside him, and that absolutely destroyed his concentration. Which, of course, meant more estus to remain hidden. Trembling, he brough the flask to his lips and closed his eyes as he forced down another sip. Immediately, a pang of desperation shot through him, and he whimpered as he pressed a hand between his legs and ground his thighs together to stave off the feeling.

It was so tempting to let go and make a puddle right there on the floor. But Orbeck's rational mind balked at the idea. This was his _study._ He was an esteemed sorcerer, not an animal that could just piss wherever it wanted. Plus, the smell of his urine would likely attract the lycanthropes. Orbeck inhaled deeply, clenching the hand that wasn't clamped over his crotch into a fist. He could make it. Just a little more, and...

Somewhere below, a crab scuttled through the flooded forest, water splashing in his wake. It was the thought of all that water surrounding him that made Orbeck's control slip. He gasped as he felt a warm spurt against his fingers, and realised that this was _it._ His body had decided that it was going to piss, and if he didn't obey within the next few seconds, he would have an accident right where he sat. Biting his lip, panic rising in his throat, Orbeck looked around for a container he could go in. He'd heard of especially diligent students at the dragon school using bottles for such purposes on the night before an examination, and remembered with bitterness how much he'd scoffed at the idea. What would his younger self have thought if he had known that one day he'd be stuck in a swamp in the land at the end of the world, and about to wet himself like a child at that...?

Orbeck's gaze fell upon his two estus flasks, and his heart sank.

The idea was ridiculous. By the gods, he _drank_ from those! But then his bladder spasmed, a few drops of piss leaking out and trickling down his thigh, and he understood that he had no choice. It would have to be the regular estus flask, he barely used that one since his battle philosophy was more about not getting hit than it was about healing himself. That one was much smaller than the ashen flask, but surely he'd feel better if he let out just a _little..._

Hoping that leaving it for a few hours in the heart of a bonfire would sterilise the flask, Orbeck unbuttoned his trousers. He squatted like a girl, wrapping his coat around himself to try and preserve at least a shred of his dignity. When he drew his prick from his drawers, he almost pissed all over his hand, but managed to control himself long enough to position himself at the mouth of the empty flask.

The relief of finally letting go after holding all that water for so long was enough to make Orbeck's eyes roll back. He let out a soft moan, closing his eyes and relishing the feeling - and then the humiliation hit, washing over him in bitter waves. There he was, a man who was once respected and feared, reduced to hiding in the corner and relieving himself into a bottle like some invalid. Worse still, the mouth of the bottle wasn't wide enough to cover the head of his cock, and so some inevitably spilled out, running down the sides and making his hand damp and sticky with his own fluids. Orbeck pursed his lips into a thin line, trying to bear the ordeal with stoicism and grace.

It felt like mere seconds had passed by the time the small flask was completely full. Orbeck tightened all his muscles, trying to stop the flow. He had a moment of panic as urine continued to dribble from the end of his prick, but with a few deep breaths he managed to regain control over his disobedient body. Trying not to look at the evidence of his humiliation, he pushed the piss-filled flask into the corner, buttoned himself up, listened for the sound of enemies, and, hearing nothing but the hollows groaning below, rose to his feet.

At that moment, Orbeck realised that he'd possibly made the worst decision of his life.

A fresh wave of desperation hit him, doubling him over, one hand clutching his swollen belly and the other between his legs. If anything, his bladder felt _more_ full than it had before. Now that his body had tasted relief, it was not going to give up so easily. Orbeck cursed his own cowardice, no longer caring who might hear, knowing only that he _had_ to get downstairs, he _had_ to piss, he _had to_...

He spun around as a lycanthrope flung itself at him, swinging its crooked arms wildly. A soul spear shot from his catalyst, felling the creature. Orbeck looked around, finding no more. He ran down the stairs, every muscle drawn tight as a bowstring, only to find that the noise of the fight had attracted the hollows. They shambled towards him, moaning and rattling their ramshackle armor. Orbeck hurled another soul spear, taking down two hollows. His concentration was slipping. A soul arrow killed another, and then he could do no more. The remaining hollows lunged at him, and he knew that he was done for. All the bad decisions that had led him to this particular moment ran through his mind as he prepared for the inevitable, anger at himself swelling in his chest, tears prickling the corners of his eyes.

The three hollows fell prone, a crossbow bolt sticking out of each one's skull. A huge man appeared behind them, striding towards Orbeck, his repeating crossbow at the ready. He was clad in twisted armor spattered with blood, the helm grinning like the head of some nightmarish beast. The sorcerer stood rooted to the spot with fear, praying to whatever gods he could recall that this monster of a man would kill him quickly.

Then the man flipped back his visor, and Orbeck sagged with relief.

Warmth bloomed around his crotch.

 _No, no, NO!_ Orbeck squeezed his legs together, stuck both hands between his thighs, but it was no use. Hot piss trickled through his fingers, pattering loudly against the ground. It snaked down his legs in scalding rivulets, darkening his drawers and trousers, pooling in his leather boots, even soaking through the back of his coat. He stood shaking like a deer in torchlight as his bladder released everything that was in it, powerless to stop until he'd let out every last drop of pent-up urine. By the time he was done, standing in the middle of a large pale yellow puddle, his wet clothes had begun to cool. The cloth stuck to his skin, itching and rubbing his soft inner thighs. When the acrid smell hit his nostrils, he began to cry.

Orbeck's rescuer (who had come by Orbeck's study a few days ago and had promptly been declared a knucklehead with no capacity for sorcery and sent on his way) stood and stared, too embarassed to look away. His cheeks were bright red, and there was pity in his eyes. He tried to rub his boot discreetly against the dirt, and Orbeck realised that some of his piss had splashed onto it. The thought made him cry harder.

"Hey," said the man. "Don't cry."

It was just too much. Orbeck collapsed to his knees in the puddle he had made, not caring if he soaked himself even more. He buried his hands in his face and sobbed like he hadn't done since he was a child. This was his punishment for turning away the only man in this wretched land who seemed willing to talk to him. Now that this man had seen how disgusting he was, he would surely leave and never come back--

"Don't cry," he heard the man repeat, more insistently this time. "You ain't the first man to wet his pants from seeing me."

Strong arms wrapped themselves around Orbeck's waist, and the next moment the ground swooped away from him as he was slung over the man's shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Put me down!" he yelled, hammering his fists against the man's armor, too shocked to cry. "You filthy savage, how _dare_ you, I'll--"

"Don't call me filthy," said the man, grabbing the back of Orbeck's coat, clearly unconcerned about the large wet stain that covered his arse and the backs of his thighs. "I didn't piss all over myself."

That shut Orbeck up. He let himself go limp as he felt the man mounting the stairs.

"You got spare clothes up there?"

"Yes," Orbeck replied. He paused, gathering his courage. "T-thank you."

The man _humph_ ed. "Don't mention it."

When they reached Orbeck's study, the man deposited Orbeck gently onto the floor. "I've been reading a bit," he said as Orbeck rummaged through his drawers. "Training those brains, you know. You were right, I ain't the brightest torch. But I really do want to learn sorcery. You'll let me take a look at those scrolls, won't you?"

"Of course. You can take them whenever you like." Orbeck wriggled out of his wet trousers, pushing his drawers down his slim hips. It was his favourite pair too, he remembered, heart sinking. A stranger in a strange land had to have his creature comforts. He whipped around when he heard a chuckle behind him.

"What now?" he asked, glaring.

"Sorry, sorry." Orbeck looked down at himself, flushing as he realised how strange his frilly white drawers must look to this man in his armor of stone. The man chuckled again, but averted his gaze. "You sorcerers..."

By the time Orbeck finished changing, he felt much better. The man was looking through Orbeck's belongings, and he decided that he really ought to say something more to this stranger who had saved his life and stayed with him through the most humiliating ordeal he had ever experienced. Something not too awkward. But not too unfeeling either. He almost envied this man, settling everything by the sword and never mincing his words. What a fool he was...!

Then he saw what the man was holding in his hand, and his blood ran cold.

"Hey, mind if I take a chug of your estus? I got pretty torn up by those crabs, and I'm afraid I've run out..."

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to give me prompts and ideas to write about, come hang out at my brand new tumblr: https://khlysti-gospel.tumblr.com/


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